See You Again
by Mighty ANT
Summary: 50 themes - 50 drabbles. Will include some spoilers later on! Suggestions/requests accepted
1. Chapter 1

**See You Again**

_**A/N**: Alrighty, as Wreck-It Ralph is to be released this Friday, my patience has hit an all-time low. My solution- Fanfiction. Each chapter that I will eventually post will include five drabbles, until I hopefully reach fifty. I'm going to try and hold off on the spoilers until the movie hits theaters, though there is one mention of Turbo in one of these drabbles (the fourth one, if you were wondering). _

_((Oh, and Felix & Calhoun are my OTP, so there will probably be a lot of them here :D)) _

_I accept any and all constructive criticism, drabbles suggestions, and so on! And if you read, please leave a comment!_

_Wreck-It Ralph (c) Walt Disney Pictures_

* * *

_01. One Truly is the Loneliest Number_

For Ralph, visiting Root Beer Tapper was often a lonesome affair.

Most of them composed of him trudging in; avoiding the gazes of any heroes seated at the bar as he claimed a table in the farthest corner of the room while he waited for his order.

He sat at that table now, but this time he was far from alone. Vanellope was on the stool next to him, standing so that she could properly reach her drink, and giddily blowing bubbles into her root beer through a straw, making him laugh at the ridiculous faces she pulled.

"Hey, Ralph, look-" Vanellope began eagerly, only for her to swallow her soda too quickly and the anguishing sensation of carbonated gas to bubble in her nose.

As the girl collapsed against the counter-top, hacking and gagging exaggeratedly, Ralph felt laughter blossom from his throat as he sympathetically patted his best friend on the back.

Ralph would never frequent Root Beer Tapper alone again, that was for sure.

_02. Couple_

Just by looking at Tamora and I, most characters wouldn't think we were together, or, heck, even _knew_ each other!

We could walk past each other in Game Central Station without sayin' a word to the other—and while these little moments happened quite often, they darn near break my heart every time.

The few times I've publicly brought Tami to Niceland (and I'm only allowed to call her that in my mind, thank you), I've introduced her only as a friend. She… intimidates the Nicelanders, to put it kindly, even more so than Ralph ever did, though Gene does try his best to hide it.

They'll leave us alone sometimes, but we still won't drop the act—Tami and I both know that the Nicelanders are probably just around the corner, waiting to catch anything they could gossip about. Tami and I don't give 'em anything and they've steadily gone to believe there really _is_ nothing between us. Now of course, Ralph knows better, but is wise enough to keep his mouth shut about it—after considerable pleading on my part, at least.

But the thing is I have got to take things slow with Tamora. She's been hurt somethin' awful so many times, let down even more, that I must be careful around her. Anything could trigger an onslaught of memories to return to her, memories she doesn't _want_ resurfaced, but that take hold of her just the same. They suffocate her, close in like a vice—being with her is like walking on eggshells.

But it's worth it.

Because some nights, long after the Nicelanders have gone to bed and Ralph has departed to Sugar Rush or Root Beer Tapper, Tamora will come visit me, or I'll go visit her occasionally, and we'll sit on the steps of the Niceland apartment building, sometimes talking for hours or staying quiet for just as long, our hands entwined for the duration of either period.

"You'll have to be patient with me, Fix-It," she'll say sometimes, and I'd squeeze her hand and reassure her that I would.

I would wait an eternity for her if I had to.

But a broken heart isn't an easy thing to fix, but hey, I _was_ Fix-It Felix. I'd find a way.

_03. Burning_

Sugar Rush made no sense to Ralph.

The concept of a world made entirety out of candy was still alien to him, and every new thing he learned about that world confused him to no end. The rain that fell now, or at least some poor replacement for it in the form of chocolate milk, nonsensical as it was, did nothing to stop the hulking man from his directive. Falling in a thin drizzle when he'd first stormed through the entrance of Sugar Rush, it now came down in a never-ending torrent, a monsoon of the most illogical of proportions, but Ralph scarcely paid attention to it.

"_Something's wrong. Vanellope's hurt."_

The warning had come from the mouth of one of the racers—Ralph couldn't remember which one—the instant his game had finished. There had been another player waiting, but the wrecker had departed without even a glance over his shoulder, flying past the racer that had told him the news.

In Sugar Rush now, running as fast as his legs would allow, Ralph made a beeline for the race track. He saw nothing else, and nothing else mattered.

He plowed through candy trees, lollipop sticks, and the like, each snapping and falling before him like cardboard. He didn't feel any of it. Not the chill of the air and rain, not the slight twinge of pain as splinters of candy and wood dug into his knuckles—only the tightening in his chest was felt, constricting with every step until it felt like his heart would burst from the pressure, and every unwanted thought, horrific impossibility, and deepest nightmare roared to the surface. _He would lose her. He would be alone again. What would he do without her…?_

And then he made it to the racetrack, Sugar Rush's ridiculous chocolate rain pelting him from the side as he stared down at the burnt out shell of Vanellope's kart.

_04. Value_

He doesn't know what to do.

But he's the hero—the Good Guy. The Good Guy always has a plan. A way to win. The Good Guy always has the brains, the skills, and the luck. The game's hero and his allies are supposed to come out on top, safe and sound. Or so Felix believed.

Ralph was gone. Turbo was back. Or so he thought. He thinks…

Something just _went wrong_. Now no one can leave their games or go into others. Ralph was probably just stuck in Sugar Rush. He'd left the instant they heard the news. He would want to check on Vanellope. Ralph was just stuck in Sugar Rush.

Felix was lying to himself and he knew it. He didn't care.

_Everything was going wrong_. In Hero's Duty, the cy-bugs had gotten out of control. They hadn't followed their programming. Light stopped attracting them. Lasers stopped harming them. They were under someone else's influence now. Even if one _were_ able to get into Game Central Station, they would be eaten alive in seconds. Tamora had guessed that the pests couldn't get into the games either and were locked inside with the Surge Protector.

Tamora.

She was hurt. Badly. They had been running from Hero's Duty when it happened. She hadn't wanted to leave. There was no honor in retreating. But he hadn't been about to watch her die. Tami had seen that. She'd agreed to go with him. Several of her men stayed behind. Felix could only guess what had happened to them.

They had been running. A cy-bug had gone after him. He was smaller. Weaker. An easier target. Calhoun had intercepted the attack. Tamora had risked her life for his own.

Back in his game, the Nicelanders had helped him set up a pseudo hospital. They brought in cots for any video game characters that had managed to get in before everything was sealed. They were mainly Hero's Duty soldiers. He had seen Q*bert earlier, thankfully uninjured.

Tami lay on a cot now. She was pale, her side bandaged. She was having trouble breathing. But Calhoun was fighting on.

Felix held her hand. He didn't have his gloves on for once. He briefly pondered what happened to them. Tami's hand was shaking. Calhoun's face remained emotionless. Her eyes were closed.

Felix wondered when Ralph would come back. He didn't know what to do.

_05. Fortress_

Vanellope would never admit (out loud, anyway) that she missed Ralph when he was gone.

And sure she had fun racing—the gamers, to her great joy, loved her sass and enjoyed playing as her. And while the other racers, Taffyta and her gang, were more civil towards her, Vanellope could not find herself to spend more time with then than was necessary. They may have been all smiles now, but not even two months ago they had been calling her a glitch and wrecking her pedal kart. The wounds they'd left had yet to heal, and Vanellope wasn't one who wanted to dwell too much on the past—especially when it was her own.

And thus, she remained rather lonely until Ralph came to visit.

To his credit, Ralph did come whenever he could. Once the arcade was closed he would bid her goodnight most every evening, even after a particularly long day when it looked like he would want nothing more than to fall asleep on his feet. And though she would never tell anyone, Vanellope would stay up waiting for Ralph on the nights he said he would be coming, panicking when he was a few minutes late—anything could happen in that small amount of time, after all. The wrecker still didn't know his way around Sugar Rush as well as he should and could have gotten lost, or hurt_, or worse, or_—but he always came, apologizing for making her wait up for him and that Felix or one of the Nicelanders or Q*bert had been what kept him.

He would ask her about her day and she would do the same for him and sometimes they'd jokingly gossip about Felix and Calhoun's most recent date, before Ralph would give her a quick kiss on the forehead (he never liked showing his soft side, despite what they'd been through and what they meant to each other) and tuck her in for bed. He would say goodnight and goodbye, but Vanellope knew that he really didn't leave for at least half an hour more, watching over her, and making sure she had fallen asleep soundly before he left.

Other times, however, she would have nightmares. Horrible, gut-wrenching nightmares that would make her toss and turn, shudder, and cry, but Ralph would always be there to end them.

So abruptly would her nightmares end that it would take Vanellope several seconds to register what had happened as the massive man scooped her up in his equally large arms, holding her tightly to his chest until the trembling of her small body and dry sobs had ceased. When her nightmares were especially rough, Ralph, holding her as if she were something infinitely precious, would rock her slightly, humming softly until she calmed down. It was within those massive arms that Vanellope would feel protected. In a place where the nightmares couldn't reach her, Vanellope no longer felt alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **Now that the movie is out, SPOILERS GALORE  
_

_And just a quick thing: what was your favorite scene from the movie? Mine had to be _*****SPOILERS*** **when Ralph came back to his game after wrecking Vanellope's kart and the conversation with Gene, and everything that had Felix and/or Calhoun in it :P

_Anyway, enjoy and such. And thank you all for the amazing reviews! If you have a drabble suggestion feel free to tell me!_

_And special thanks to Galimatias, who proofread these drabbles! You're awesome :D_

_Wreck-It Ralph (c) Walt Disney Pictures_

* * *

_06. Kings, Queens, and Jokers_

Sometimes Sour Bill hated his job.

Actually, make that most times.

There was nothing appealing of being a henchman, the manual labor that came with such a title being less than pleasant. But it wasn't the work that bothered Bill—not really. He was little more than a butler at times, or chauffer, which wasn't much to complain about. No, what made him abhor his job was not what it entailed—it was who he worked for.

Now, everyone knew King Candy was half crazed—it was who he was, and the gamers and the citizens of Sugar Rush had accepted that—but all they got to see was the theatricality the monarch put on, the purposeful craziness and deluded way of speaking.

But Sour Bill was the only one who saw the real thing.

It had been several years ago when Bill witnessed it for the first time. He had been sent by the Donut Police give the king a report on their last patrol, and after wandering through the castle for some time had come to the ruler's bedroom. He stopped just outside the door, however when he heard voices. Or, one voice.

"_Hm_…yes. I'm King Candy. King Candy. Always was."

Sour Bill had carefully peered around the partially open door and found King Candy talking to his reflection.

"King Candy's my name. Who's Turbo? Well I don't know, but I am certainly not him. How did I get so good at racing you ask? Oh, it's just something I picked up. I am king after all—a king must be the best… Turbo? No, I don't have the slightest idea."

Bill never revealed what he saw that day—he had quickly crept away from the doorway, and King Candy was none the wiser. The news was overpowering—everything anyone had ever thought of King Candy was a lie, and who knew what other memories the monarch had locked away. Although, the only thing that occupied his mind was that he was working for an actual sociopath now, and how awful his duties would be.

Sometimes Sour Bill really hated his job.

_07. Cruel_

Ralph stealthily scaled the candy-coated hillock, making a face as a piece of chocolate stuck itself to his hands, and found the racers he had been chasing in a clearing below him—the junkyard.

And there, standing in the middle of them was the brat that had taken his medal.

As the wrecker stewed in his own rage, he watched detachedly as the racers haughtily surrounded the little girl, poking at her pitiful kart.

"What did she do, build it herself?" he said aloud, wincing as she showed it off. The racers seemed to snicker, and one in a too-pink outfit climbed into the handmade kart herself, smiling all too sweetly before she tore a piece off and lobbed it at the small, raven-haired girl.

And then all chaos broke loose.

Ralph watched in mounting horror as the other racers, up until then having been only observing, followed suite; kicking, tearing, and roughly dismantling the little girl's kart. She tried to stop them but there were too many and the racer in too much pink, who Ralph deemed as leader, came apart from the group, glaring fiercely at the outcast.

From so far away, Ralph couldn't hear what she said—but he certainly saw the pain in the little girl's eyes, just before she was _pushed into the mud(—Always the mud, day after day—did no one know how it felt? To be treated like dirt, less than dirt, too unimportant for even an apology or backwards glance….no cake, no pies to be welcomed too…just the mud and the bricks). _In that instant—despite the fact that he should hate that little girl, hate her for taking his chance of proving, once and for all, that he could be good— Ralph saw red.

Because no one should know what it was like to be thrown in the mud.

_08. Freedom isn't Free_

_She was gone. Sugar Rush was gone. Unplugged. Destroyed. Nonexistent._

_Ralph hadn't felt himself be pulled away. Had it been Felix? Had Calhoun helped? He didn't know. Didn't care. He couldn't feel his limbs. He only saw her—saw her big, soulful hazel eyes as her code was destroyed—he didn't look away for a second. The look in her eyes had been heartrending—she had forgiven him. Forgiven him for abandoning her. For leaving her to die._

_He would have stayed with her if he could. He would have. But what was stopping him?_

_There was no one behind him. No guiding hands. Something else was pulling him away from her—from Vanellope. But he saw only darkness, a darkness which engulfed the girl and then him._

Ralph awoke with a start, choking, gasping for air. He fiercely blinked the spots from his eyes, groping through the gloom until he became accustomed to the darkness. It took him some time, but he eventually realized that he was still in Vanellope's garage beneath the palace.

He rose to his feet, heart hammering in his chest at the impossibility, the utter improbability of his nightmare—she was fine, she always was, there were no cy-bugs, no King Candy or Turbo or anything else that could take her away from him—but he needed to make certain. He had to.

Peering into the interior of the sloppy kart they had made, Ralph found Vanellope curled in the driver's seat, sound asleep.

She was safe.

_09. New Love_

Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun was accustomed to having nothing. Less than nothing, in fact.

She had her platoons respect and loyalty. That was all. With no material possessions to speak of and her hope almost gone—she couldn't rid the world of those damned cy-bugs when the first-person shooter could barely get past the fifteenth level. She had no home. A home was where one felt safe, loved…. She hadn't had something like that for a long time.

And then here was Felix, recanting to her about his positively _wonderful_ life.

He had it well-off in his game, Tamora had decided as she listened to him talk. Parties, ice sculptures, pies, and medals—Felix never had anything disastrous happen to him in his entire existence, sans Ralph's game-jumping fiasco. And aside from that, Felix's life had been darn near perfect.

A small seed of bitter jealousy sprouted deep in her gut—some she was instantly ashamed of—but here was someone who had never seen comrades die around him, never been grinded down by enemy cy-bugs, and never had to watch the gamer eaten and torn apart.

But the she would look into his bright, pitifully naïve blue eyes, and Tamora would realize that she would never force her life on anyone else.

Once he had finished, Tamora had smirked and teasingly said, "Is there anything you _didn't_ have, Fix-It?"

To her surprise, Felix answered with his familiar too-wide, adorable smile and blush. "Well…_you_."

_10. Bad_

Ralph never understood why he had been made the Bad Guy.

He could be good. A Good Guy like Felix. He could fix things…if he really tried. He could be liked. _Loved_, even. He didn't need to go to some Bad-Anon meeting. He didn't need to vent. Vent about what?

He could be a Good Guy. If they would just _let_ him, he could prove everyone wrong. Bad Guys _could_ change. They _had_ to be capable of change.

It didn't help, though, that they tried so very hard to _make_ him bad.

Name-calling would get to him eventually. Teasing. Silent glares as other characters walked past him in Game Central Station. Acting as if he didn't exist.

But the worst was the fear.

He would see it everywhere. Under the derision there would be terror. The glares would be used to mask horror. Ignoring him was better than looking him in the eye and flinching at his sheer size, the power he held, what he was capable of doing. He _hated_ being feared.

But then, there was this little girl who _wasn't_ afraid of him.

Oh, he'd given her plenty of chances to be. He was more than four times her height and a hundred her weight, looming over her. He had chased her when covered in taffy and all other sorts of candy, looking like some malformed beast, and she had _laughed_ once the cupcake had rendered incapable of moving.

Those racers had been terrified of him when he'd chased them off. Huffing and puffing, his temper at its peak, he could have pulverized the girl. But she had barely looked at him until he released his fury on the landscape.

She didn't flinch when he walked beside her. She didn't shrink back when he picked her up.

She _trusted_ him.

And then he had to go and destroy that trust.

Ralph had felt her pleading gaze on him even when he smashed her kart, her desperate shrieks somehow louder than the crunch of candy as his fists made short work of their pride and joy. It was flabbergasting how _easily_ he could destroy something.

But it was done.

He was splattered in chocolate and other kinds of sweets from the ruined kart, staining his hands and the medal she had made for him, and she only looked at him, hate and terror and pain in her eyes.

"_You really are a bad guy…."_

She had _trusted_ him.

Ralph understood why he had been made the Bad Guy.


	3. Importance of a Name

**_A/N: _**_I can't thank everyone enough for their amazing reviews! Thank you all for taking the time to read this :D_

_Anyway, many apologies for taking so long in updating- I won't have much time during the week to post anything, so weekends are my better days for writing :) _

_So, for these collections of drabbles, I based their central theme off of names, as you can see in the title. Tell me what you think, and if you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me! I accept all constructive criticism :D_

_Also I'm an awful artist so if anyone wants to draw anything based off of anything of mine, go ahead ;D_

_Wreck-It Ralph (c) Walt Disney Pictures _

* * *

_11. Introduction _

Ralph was on his way to Root Beer Tapper's after a particularly busy day of work, rolling his shoulders as he worked out the kinks in his back from being thrown off of the roof so many times. The Nicelanders were throwing another party—a one-year anniversary, as it was—and the massive man had seen that he was not exactly welcome. Whatever. He was not all that fond of the Nicelanders anyway. Felix was alright, he supposed…

The wrecker had been about to enter the portal to Tapper's had been only a few feet away, in fact, when he could hear an uproar coming from within the entrance. Without warning, a small, orange and white clad figure was forcibly tossed out, emitting a strangled shriek as he hit the floor and fell into a roll.

"And don't even think of showing your face her again until you get some manners, you little jerk!" Ryu, one of the characters that had thrown the stranger out, shouted, and the diminutive man stood on trembling legs, shaking his pale gray fist at their retreating backs.

"Yeah, keep running, you cretins! Cowards!" he kicked the floor with a huff and rubbed the back of his shiny white helmet. Ralph took this time to intervene.

"Uh…hey," he began awkwardly disconcerted by the poisonous yellow glare he received. "Are you OK?"

The racer scoffed aloud, sneering at the profoundly larger man and showing his pure yellow teeth in the process. "I don't need some Bad Guy's sympathy. Keep walking, two-ton."

Ralph's brow furrowed, his notorious temper bubbling but temporarily restrained. "Listen, buddy, I'm not the one who was stupid enough to be banned from Tapper's!"

The racer glared up at the larger man for several seconds, perfectly silent, before suddenly leering, acid-yellow eyes aglow. "You're Wreck-It Ralph, aren't you?"

Ralph blinked, startled by the racer's sudden change in tone. "Yeah…"

The gray-skinned man grinned impishly. "Name's Turbo," he said, before sharply kicking the larger man's shin and running off toward his game.

As Ralph swore, hopping up and down on one leg, he realized that this "Turbo" character lived right next door to him.

_12. Speak_

"My name's Vanellope, by the way."

Ralph only grunts, his features set into a permanent scowl as he follows her through the fringes of the Lollistix forest and closer to the Kart Bakery. The glitch smirks and leads him on, some part of her, deep down in her code, hoping that he will use her name without the horror and disgust it has come to be associated with.

She hopes in vain.

Her calls her any variation of "kid"—never by name, but not ever dubbing her as a glitch either. Vanellope supposes that it's better than nothing. But she still hopes; and that was a sensation she never thought she'd feel again after the destruction of the Lickety-Split. And this hulking man, a Bad Guy, is the cause of it. Vanellope has never heard her name be used with anything but abhorrence; she hopes—wishes fruitlessly, really—that Ralph will be the exception to this.

And she hopes. And hopes.

They are writing their names on the kart, and he makes no mention of it. He's teaching her how to drive (sort of) and the moniker remains. "Kid". How she wishes to be more—how she wishes to be Vanellope.

But she becomes distracted. He's helped her so much, Ralph, this supposed Bad Guy who longs for the exact same thing as she… She forgets what she wants to be called, and just wants Ralph with her, beside her, supporting her…

And she does not notice when he calls her Vanellope for the first time.

It is not until later, her kart and her dreams long since smashed, and she has been captured and put into King Candy's Fungeon, Glitch-Proof chains and all, that she realizes what the use of her name truly meant—a plea for forgiveness. He had known that she would not want anything to with him after he destroyed their kart, and so he had called her Vanellope while he still had the chance.

She thinks that this is the first and last time he would use her name. She does not know that much later, when he's dangling above the surface of Sugar Rush from the talons of Turbo himself, seconds from death and the destruction of her world, he will see her miles below him, _only her_, and the only thing he will say is her name.

_13. Nom de la Guerre _

_"Vocal identification required."_

Felix startles at the cool, female voice emitted from the VOX outside the impregnable door. He twists his hat, glancing up and down the dismal hall in a futile search for a space marine that could assist him.

_"Vocal identification required_," the robotic tone repeats, and with a small exhale the handyman releases a fraction of his uncertainly and plants his cap back squarely on his head. He takes a small step forward, wringing his hands now.

"Um…Fix-It Felix, Jr.?" he says carefully. There's a pause.

"'U_m…Fix-It Felix, Jr.?' recognized. Access granted."_

Pleasantly surprised, the handyman watches as the door slides open with the hiss and whir of hydraulics, opening into the rec room just beyond.

Many of the armor-less space marines didn't even glance up at Felix's arrival, leaning over pool tables or nursing drinks at the bar. Even so, as the 8-bit man navigated cautiously around them, he feels all eyes on him.

Eventually he makes it to the back of the room, where he recognizes the bulky form of Kohut cleaning his gun. The handyman swallows but presses forward.

"Fix-It Felix, right?" the dark-skinned soldier asks without looking up. Felix nodded, and after a moment Kohut put down his gun, regarding the smaller man with an even gaze. "Are you sure about this? I mean…"

Felix's stubborn nod seems to be enough conviction for the space marine, as he unloaded his enormous gun into the repairman's hands. As if wanting to imprint his verdict in stone, Felix said, "I want to be able to protect Tamora…when she's not doin' the protecting herself."

_14. Masquerade_

He still finds himself looking in mirrors.

It has been a solid year since he took up the mantle of King Candy. He was a performer—he should have had the persona down pat by now. It was not difficult. Shouldn't have been.

But he still has to stop himself from shouting his traditional "Turbo-tastic!" at the end of a race. He still has to remind himself of who he is supposed to be, and to keep up the act. He has to remember to keep his disguise.

But after a long day of racing, against the gamers and for the roster, he's sick of his form. He doesn't even want to _look_ at a piece of candy, not that this whim is even possible, but he _will_ banish every subject from his immediate presence and lock himself in his massive bedroom. But he won't sleep. He hardly ever touches the bed, in fact.

No, instead he will drop his disguise. It was tremendously challenging to regain the form afterward, and even more difficult to make it stay, but he can't bear living in someone else's skin for such an extended period of time. He'll get used to it in the future, he supposes.

But not now. _Now_ he will rid himself of the awful disguise, allow for the return of his familiar gray skin and orange and white jumpsuit, and curl up on the floor in front of his full length mirror, humming Turbo-Time's theme song around his endless chant, "My name is Turbo. I'm not King Candy. My name is Turbo, and I'm the greatest racer ever."

_15. Title _

Once things had calmed down after Ralph's game jumping experience, life went back to normal. Or at least to the current equivalent of it.

The Nicelanders were significantly more cordial to him, with the exception of Gene, and Mary was more than happy to bake cakes for him and everyone to share. He had a home of his own, plenty of friends, a brother—there wasn't much more he could want.

He was still the villain, sure, but really…it wasn't so bad.

Life in general had become more bearable for Ralph, but it was not the pies, or the house, or even the friends that made it all worth it. It was the _one_ friend, that annoying little girl who visited him on a near daily basis while he did the same for her, who hugged him just as regularly, as if enforcing the certainty that there was someone out there who cared about him with complete absoluteness, and who was the one who gave him his medal, the only one he was proud of and the only one he kept. She was what made it all worthwhile.

Vanellope had dubbed him a hero, _her_ hero, and a hero he became.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Another update! Praise the gods :P_

_Anyway, here is yet another set of five drabbles, and I would like to give special thanks to every single person who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and even _glanced_ at this story! You are all amazing people :D_

_#17 of these drabbles can be seen as a continuation of sorts to #3 Burning in my first chapter, but you don't need to necessarily reread it to understand this one. This certain drabble is also a bit longer than the others. _

_Also, who else was intensely creeped out by King Candy/Turbo's cy-bug form? I can't even look at him without flinching. _

_Oh, yes, and these include **SPOILERS**, just in case you haven't seen the movie yet _

_Wreck-It Ralph (c) Walt Disney Pictures _

* * *

_16. Sleep_

It was odd, Calhoun decided, not to fall asleep to the sound of buzzing cy-bugs.

The sergeant lay in bed—a real one, with sheets, and puffed pillows, and warm blankets—her hands tented over her stomach as she gazed up at the ceiling in quiet thought.

Here, there was no whirring of machinery, but instead the soft chirps of crickets and the occasional breeze. You didn't hear the echoes of rounds behind fired in the shooting range, or the mumbled curses emitted from her platoon in their sleep.

Tamora was not used to the quiet.

In Hero's Duty, silence was normally a bad thing—meaning something completely and utterly awful was about to happen. In Fix-It Felix, Jr., however, it was not an omen of any kind—it just was. It was calm; and she was even less accustomed to calm.

Jarred from her pondering when Felix mumbled in his sleep, Tamora glanced toward her husband just in time for him to turn, wrap his arms around her middle and bury his face against her side. He slept on.

Tamora was stiff for only a few seconds before she allowed her body to gradually relax against the embrace. She carefully looked back down at her husband, not wanting to move too much in fear of waking him, and felt something within her chest melt at his utterly blissful expression.

Perhaps she would be able to get some sleep after all, Tamora admitted as she wrapped her own arms around Felix.

_17. All the Little Things_

"Whatever it is you're gonna say, I don't wanna hear it."

Felix paused at the base of the brick pile, a concerned look crossing his normally placid features and remained fixated there. His expression smoothed only slightly as he stood on his toes in a fruitless attempt to locate the child from so far below.

"C'mon, Vanny, I just want to have words with you," he pleaded, wringing his hat. There was an audible pause, but Vanellope did not reject him again.

Hopping up the brick pile in seconds, Felix found the girl curled up against Ralph's old stump, her back to him. The handyman allowed his shoulders to fall slightly in a silent sigh before joining Vanellope.

Propping his elbows up against his knees, Felix turned toward the child. But before he could even open his mouth, Vanellope spoke, her bitter tone muffled by the fabric of her sweatshirt.

"He didn't have to act like that, y'know. I can take care of myself."

Felix sighed aloud this time, leaning forward to try and get a better look at the child's face. "Now, Vanellope, you know how Ralph is," he soothed, edging a bit closer so he could lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He just wants what's best for you."

Vanellope whirled around with blazing hazel eyes, and Felix pulled his hand away as if burned. "What's best for me? He's not letting me race tomorrow!" The little girl clenched her small fists in outrage, and pounded them against the bricks below her. This action caused a significant loss in ferocity, and Vanellope winced and rubbed at her sore hands, though her glare did not lose its potency.

Felix leaned forward and laid his hand on the girl's shoulder again, though this time his wide blue eyes were imploring. "Vanellope, do you understand why Ralph's not allowing you to race?"

The girl scoffed, though did not shrug Felix's hand away. "Yeah, 'cause I crashed my kart. So what? I managed to glitch out of it just fine. I don't get what the big whoop is…"

The handyman shook his head, gradually releasing his hold over Vanellope's shoulder. "No, you don't understand, sweetheart. If anything happened to you, Ralph would—Ralph would—," he noticed that the racer wasn't even looking at him anymore and so he carefully placed both hands on her shoulders again and turned her to face him. At the annoyance in her eyes he quickly let go but grabbed and held her hands instead.

"Vanellope, do you know how important you are to Ralph?" he tried, eyes wide and beseeching, but the child quietly avoided his gaze. "And do you know that you are the only thing that keeps him going?" Vanellope seemed to shrink at his words, but Felix persisted despite the guilt that had begun gnawing at the center of his gut. He had a point to prove. "Vanny, you may not be a glitch anymore but Ralph doesn't see you as bein' any less fragile. That's why he doesn't want you racing tomorrow—if you were still a glitch, that crash could have k-killed you."

"He wants to protect me," Vanellope mumbled, and Felix bowed his head.

"Vanny…do you have any idea of what Ralph would do if he lost you?" The child didn't respond, but he felt her hands tense beneath his. "Because I worry, Vanny—he may be a Bad Guy, but he's one of the most amazing people either of us will ever meet. He has a good heart. And I'm worried that he might lose that if he lost you."

Vanellope sniffed, her false bravado gone, and tugged one of her hands free of Felix's grasp to turn away and rub at her watering eyes.

"Will you talk to him?" Felix pleaded, though the tightening in his chest lessened slightly when she nodded. "Good girl. Now let's get you out of the cold."

_18. Do You Want to Know?_

"Who's Turbo?"

Ralph nearly choked on his root beer at the abrupt question. Coughing and hacking as he pounded on his chest with a mighty fist, he inhaled deeply before glancing at the girl, answering as coolly as he could muster. "What do you mean, kid?"

Vanellope ran a finger around the rim of her mug, uncharacteristically quiet. She had been the one to suggest a visit to Tapper's, with no added explanation, though now Ralph suspected why.

The girl shrugged once, but it was too casual and too light to be taken seriously. "Well…I was just wondering I guess," Vanellope said, fiddling again with her mug but not taking a sip of her root beer. "After everything that happened, well…you never really told me about him."

Ralph took a long swing from his drink, and by his furrowed brow it was clear that he was grappling with how to approach such a tender subject. He knew Vanellope's absentminded tone and posture were forced, he _knew_, but he had thought that the matter of Turbo had been resolved, locked up and tucked away, never to be unearthed again. He rubbed the back of his neck before speaking.

"There's not much to tell, kid," he admitted slowly, gauging his friend's reaction. "Turbo is—_was_ a bad guy. And not a Bad Guy, but a…well…you know. He was a glory-hog, and when his game—when _he_ didn't get the attention he thought he deserved, well he…" Ralph sighed, not needing to finish his sentence to get his point across, taking another long sip of his root beer.

"And then he came to Sugar Rush?" Vanellope whispered, filling the gap Ralph had left. The wrecker nodded, but a troubled look soon clouded his features.

"Hey, are you okay, kid?" he asked, a massive hand hovering protectively over the girl, longing to offer her some form of comfort, but Vanellope nodded furiously into her root beer.

"I'm fine, stink brain," she said with an easy grin, as if their conversation had never occurred, as if Vanellope didn't still have nightmares, and they were both just hunky-dory. There was a pregnant pause, and the pair continued to drown whatever sorrows they had with their drinks, when Vanellope murmured into the lip of her mug, so softly that Ralph barely caught it. "But…I'm glad you're safe, Ralph."

_19. You and Me_

"Turbo….it was _you_ the whole time?"

The warped cy-bug bearing a grey face still eerily familiar to the wrecker cackled abruptly, slithering nearer to the rim of the mountain. "Turbo? No, no, you see, I _was_ King Candy." The face changed to that of the monarch's as the beast advanced, leering at the frighteningly smaller Bad Guy.

Ralph swallowed but stepped forward as well, carefully eyeing the Mentos at the monstrosity's feet. "Why…why did you do all this?"

"What?" the question came out of King Candy's mouth, though its eyes had begun to glow the same yellow as Turbo's. "Why did I leave my game? Why did I come here and take over?" The beast snickered, chortled, before its body began to be racked by hysterical sobs. It resembled an insect convulsing.

Then, without warning, the monstrosity that was—had been—Turbo, slammed one clawed hand down on top of the wrecker, trapping him against the sea of Mentos beneath them. The cy-bug beast laughed at the man's struggling.

"You're pathetic, Ralph," he sneered, face flickering from King Candy to Turbo and back. "Hypocritical, really." He giggled crazily; a poor imitation of King Candy's deluded laughter, and brought his face, masked as Turbo now, down to Ralph's. "I did the same thing you did. Left my game for something better." His eyes widened as memory rushed in. "I was meant to be famous. I was—am! I _am_ the greatest racer in existence. I needed to keep that title." His long, serpentine neck bent to the side, leaving his head lolling at a ninety degree angle.

He bared his sharp teeth in a smile. "We aren't so different, you and I."

"I'm nothing like you!" Ralph spat, and the beast's face changed back to Turbo.

"Oh really?" he snickered again, watching a horde of cy-bugs fly overhead, then allowed his gaze to trail over the remains of Sugar Rush. "Well I was capable of conquering this game easily enough. I just had to get rid of that brat." His face flickered, glitching sporadically before it settled on King Candy. "You could do the same. You have the strength! The will! You're a Bad Guy, and I was _Good_. What hope do you have of being better?" The monster leaned forward, snickering into Ralph's ear.

"You could have easily become me."

_20. Jump_

He's falling.

Ralph can hear King Candy—or whatever is it he's become—shriek in indignation as his prey escapes. He knows that the monster will not be able to stop his rapid descent.

The surface of Diet Cola Mountain is growing nearer. For half a second, because that is all the time he has, Ralph truly wonders what he's doing. But then he feels one of his massive hands wrap around his medal and he knows.

One fist is positioned, aimed directly for the pool Mentos that seems so small, so far away, and Ralph holds onto his homemade medal for dear life. In the pit of his gut, which is now hovering somewhere around his throat, there is a startling sense of determination that is bellied by his words, lost to the roaring wind.

"I'm bad, and that's good," he begins, voice quaking. He has never felt terror like this before in his entire life.

_"We all know what you're feeling, and we've come to terms with it."_

_"You don't know what it's like to be rejected and treated like a criminal!"_

_"I made it for you. In case we don't win. Not that I think there's even a _remote_ chance we're not gonna win."_

Ralph swallows, the harsh wind making his eyes water. In his dive, he does not dare look up, to search for her, fearing what he will find. But this is all for _her_, he knows; for her, and Felix, and even Calhoun. He forces himself to continue.

"I'll never be good, and that's not bad…"

_"You're just the Bad Guy who wrecks the building!"_

_"You are Bad Guy, but this does not mean you're bad _guy_."_

_"Listen, kid, I've been talking to King Candy…"_

_"You really are a_ _bad guy..."_

He is getting closer. The surface of the mountain is maybe two hundred feet below. A hundred fifty feet. A hundred.

A final sense of conviction settles over him—the fear is gone, as is any anger toward Turbo, for what he has done or tried to do. There is only the fall.

"There's no one I'd rather be..." his gaze falters, a chink in the armor he has just only built—chocolate eyes flicker to the frosting-engraved medal still held in his massive palm. Ralph holds it closer to his heart as he completes the affirmation.

"…Than me."

_"I've never seen you smile before!"_

_"I bundle myself up with them like a little homeless lady."_

_"If you're gonna be a racer, you're gonna need a track."_

_"I don't make thinks, I _break_ things."_

_"I love it…"_

_"Just go. It's okay."_

As he breaks the surface, Ralph is perfectly at peace.


	5. Sympathy, Empathy, Apathy

_**A/N: **And it's been a month since I last updated ;_;_

_Please accept my profound apologies, I completely lost track of time, tests and assignments have been piling up, and I have finals in a week. My next updates will most likely be sporadic until winter break, but until then, please enjoy these drabbles, the theme of which was suggested by **StarInk10**, who is, btw, extremely awesome. Many thanks to you!_

_So read, review, and enjoy! And once again, if you have yet to see this movie, this story contains **SPOILERS!**_

_Wreck-It Ralph belongs to Walt Disney Pictures _

* * *

_21. Night and Day_

It was not frequently that Sugar Rush was actually dark once the arcade closed, but every so often, with some additional tampering of the codes, the candy land would be graced with a night cycle.

Truthfully, Vanellope did not particularly enjoy these rare happenings. Though she had been the one to suggest it, and later act on it, the girl found herself dreading these dark nights. When the sun was still out, most evenings the denizens of Sugar Rush could simply close their blinds to block out the light, and while sleep was not strictly needed, most characters enjoyed a little recharge. But when it was still light out, even with closed blinds and bolted shutters, small rays could be seen peeking out from beneath, comforting Vanellope as she slept. But on dark nights, when her bedroom was thrown into blackness, shadows would lurk in corners, taking on terrifying forms and faces, glowing eyes and yellow teeth, and she would awake in cold sweat, mind wracked by nightmares whenever sleep claimed her.

This was one such night, when Vanellope would forgo any chance of sleeping and stand on her balcony, gazing down at her kingdom that had been thrown into shadow.

"How come you aren't in bed?"

Vanellope jumped, though by the time she turned to face her friend she had schooled her expression into some resembling sarcasm.

"'Cause I didn't _feel_ like sleeping, stink brain," she said flippantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and turned back to lean against the railing of her balcony. By the sound of heavy footsteps she knew that Ralph had come closer. Soon he was just behind her, looking down at her with solicitous regard.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" he said knowingly, more a statement than an actual question.

Vanellope was quiet, once again despising how Ralph could read her so easily, but at the feel of his massive hand on her back, comforting in every way, she released a heavy sigh.

"Yeah," she finally admitted.

"The nightmares?" Ralph guessed, and the girl nodded. When her friend did not continue, Vanellope craned her head back to look up at the massive man, surprised to find his gaze very far away. She briefly wondered why Ralph was awake as well.

He gently squeezed her shoulders.

"Don't worry kiddo. You're not the only one who gets them."

_22. Betrayal _

King Candy needed to stay, if only to make sure Ralph lived up to his part of the bargain.

The pseudo monarch made sure he was far enough that his kart's engine could no longer be heard before he hopped out and ran back to the clearing where he had left the wrecker and the glitch. He heard their shouts before actually finding them.

He hid behind on of the massive gumdrops on the periphery of the pair, watching in eager silence. He wondered what Ralph would do to convince the child—appeal to her better nature? Talk to her?

He found that talking would not be an issue, as Vanellope threw the Hero medal at Ralph's face. As the glitch screamed at her massive friend, every sharp word from her mouth making him flinch, King Candy began to wonder if he would have put someone through this kind of turmoil when he had been Turbo.

It didn't matter. He was sure that Ralph would find a way to keep the glitch from racing. Some Bad Guy _he_ was; softer than a marshmallow and just as easy to keep under his thumb, if he was careful. And he had been.

The girl's shrieks brought him back to attention, and King Candy was stunned to see Ralph hang the girl on the branch of a sugar-free lollipop tree, though Vanellope, kicking and screaming, was having none of it.

"No!" he heard the wrecker say, voice hard. "This is for your own good."

The giant lumbered over to the girl's poorly made go-kart, clenching his disproportionate fists—and King Candy balked.

He tightly clenched his eyes shut as Ralph's fists slammed down; snapping the kart in two with terrifying ease, and the crunch of candy was like the crunch of bone in King Candy's mind.

This was how it had to be, he knew. Without a kart, the glitch could not race. But as the decimation of the candy kart continued, King Candy was reminded of his own go-kart back in Turbo-Time. This was different, of course. He had lost his ever-faithful kart in the wreck in RoadBlasters, not to the hands of a soft-hearted villain.

But then all was quiet, and King Candy didn't leave.

He opened his eyes.

Ralph was looking down at his good work, eyes wide in horrified shock, as if he could not believe what he had done, and Vanellope was sobbing.

Destruction followed wherever Turbo went, and King Candy knew the trend would continue. But the kart, whatever was left, had rooted him to the ground, reeling from suppressed memories.

_His fist win, a pat on the back from forever-cheery adversaries, drinks at Tapper's, practices races around their track that he sometimes allowed the others to win, the feel of popularity, of being number one, the most loved in the arcade, and then RoadBlasters. Rage and jealously and bitterness followed. He wasn't thinking straight—he never did, and now everyone was gone, dead, unplugged, and no one cared, only feared—_

King Candy gasped, holding onto his gumdrop covert with a trembling grey hand, and willed the yellow in his eyes to fade. Looking up, he caught Vanellope's retreating back disappear into the side of Diet Cola Mountain and his code boiled.

Straightening his jacket, King Candy spun around and marched back to his kart as if he hadn't witnessed a thing. He would need his police force to catch the glitch. That was all that mattered.

_23. Fear_

For a time, Vanellope could not understand why everyone was so frightened of Ralph.

Sure he was a big guy, _immense_ really, and most every room quieted the moment he entered. Ralph never walked, either—he _lumbered_, his footfalls heavy and echoing, his meaty fists swinging at his sides. He could quite literally break anything—relationships, walls, a three hundred foot thick layer of Mentos, you name it.

But he was also the guy who rocked Vanellope to sleep when her eyes refused to close and read to her and went stargazing and let her camp out in his game when Sugar Rush began to feel too cramped. Ralph was the overprotective lug who would never let her leave his side when they went into Game Central Station, and allowed her to climb up onto his shoulders and put candy in his hair. He was a softie, but at the same time Vanellope's rock—a very stubborn, immovable rock. Ralph, who would never leave her, never give up on her, even if it meant his certain death. She could never be afraid of him.

Although Vanellope finally understood why so many feared him as he loomed over an all-too-alive Turbo, murder in his eyes and blocky fists poised to render the racer to a white-orange smudge on the ground.

_24. Grass and Gravestones _

Calhoun found Felix behind the Niceland Apartment complex, by the blocky tree line, standing with his head bowed and hat in his hands.

"Hey, Fix-It," she called to her boyfriend as she drew nearer, her bulky armor replaced with more comfortable civvies, not seeing what the handyman stood before. "What're you up to, back here by yourself?"

She paused only a few paces after him, finally seeing the tombstone in the low starlight. Both were quiet, and Tamora was hauntingly reminded of Brad's own plaque in Hero's Duty.

She heard Felix sniff and he said, without turning, "Ma'am."

Tamora nodded a small greeting in return, though he could not see it, and took a step forward. She wasn't used to feeling so uncertain.

"Felix."

The repairman roughly rubbed at his eyes, grip on his hat tightening fractionally. Tamora could read the inscription on the stone now, but she said nothing.

"I have memories of my pop, you know," Felix said shakily, shuffling his feet. He wrung his hat. "Not very solid ones, they're patchy in some places, but I remember him. Clear as day." He swallowed.

"But none of it was real, was it?" Tamora said softly, and her boyfriend ducked his head.

"Only memories, my lady." His baby-blue eyes were glassy as he gazed down at the patch of green in front of him. "I remember him giving me my hammer, though I reckon I've always had it." Felix seemed to choke for an instant, and he managed to bow his head further, so that his chin was against his chest. "Today would've been his birthday, Tammy."

Tamora was kneeling beside the handyman in an instant, her arms encircling him, and he collapsed readily into her embrace, shuddering slightly. She exhaled in a rush, her fingers trailing through Felix's hair as he curled up against her.

"I guess we've both been admitted into the Tragic Back-story Club, huh, soldier?"

Felix's weak chuckle nearly made her smile.

_25. Nanny_

Working as King Candy's henchman, Sour Bill never had to do much. That didn't stop him from abhorring his job, but the monarch simply preferred to do most things himself. The most the gobstopper did was prepare King Candy's food, fan him, and announce his presence at races. King Candy had enjoyed being alone. It was not until the Turbo incident that Sour Bill understood why.

But Vanellope Von Schweetz was another matter altogether.

This girl, this _child_, loved attention. She giggled whenever he asked in that dreadful monotone of his if she wished for anything else, or when he prepared her supper or tea.

"I've never had a butler before, Billy-boy," she would often snicker, and she couldn't get enough of it. Late-night snack runs consisting of cookies and warm milk had become commonplace, and it was a wonder Sour Bill got any sleep at all.

It was a welcome peace whenever the President went out racing or the wrecker came to visit. Ralph usually took charge of the girl when he did come, and for that Sour Bill was thankful. He supposed that this girl was a better ruler than King Candy, and didn't lock people in the dungeon (or Fungeon, he supposed) or that sort of thing. She had even forgiven Sour Bill, after making him repeat some ridiculous oath about never falling to the thrall of another false ruler or some rubbish. Sour Bill did his job, at a mediocre, acceptable level, and went on about his day. He was not the girl's nanny— that was Ralph's job.

But it just so happened that Ralph was not here tonight.

The knock had woken Sour Bill from another round of dreamless sleep late in the night, and grumping and groaning the gobstopper had clambered out of bed and slouched to the door.

"If this is a request for more cookies, you can get them from the kitchen yourself—"

He trailed off at the sight of a sniveling President Schweetz standing outside his door, a blanket draped loosely around her piteously shivering form.

"I… I don't feel very good," she mumbled, eyes glazed. Sour Bill, cursing to the high heavens, led the ill girl back to her bedroom and four-poster bed where he prepared her tea and placed a cool compress to her forehead.

Sour Bill watched over the girl for the remainder of the night and the following morning, until Ralph came barging in, frantic and so very worried about his little friend that he left cracks in the door frame in his hurry to get inside.

In spending that prolonged time with Vanellope, Sour Bill wondered if it was a miracle that Ralph was able to take care of her so spectacularly.


End file.
